Part 4

“Orion was a mighty hunter,” she explained. “This is the way he would attack a lion or any wild creature, without the slightest fear. But he died at last from the bite of a scorpion. The Scorpion is in the sky too, spread out very glittering—a lobstery-kind of a thing—but never at the same time as Orion, because that wouldn’t be good manners. So, sometimes we see Orion marching across, with his two dogs, Sirius and Procyon; then we see the Scorpion, but never the two together.”

And she couldn’t draw the dogs near him, where they belonged, because the Kitten had stepped there; they had to move along to a place where the sand was smooth. ]

“This,” answered the Princess:—

There are just as good fish in the sea—the sea As ever came out (they say); But the finest fish that ever were there Have come to the Sky to stay.

These fishes lived in a pool—a pool, Where coral and seaweed grow. The great waves dash on the reef without, But here they ripple and flow.

You’d think ’twas a place where a fish—a fish Would willingly live and die; But these two fishes were not content— They wanted to go to the Sky!

The Fisherman, up above—above, Espied the fish from afar; He spun a line from a moonbeam fine, And baited it with a star.

Now, these silly fish didn’t try—didn’t try To make the best of their home; They fumed and they splashed and they lashed their tails, Till the water was covered with foam.

And the Fisherman, watching above—above, And _wanting_ to pull them in, Could only wait till the fish were too tired To move a tail, or a fin.

Then, twice, on the face of the placid pool, He dropped the star from on high; And, one by one, drew the Fishes up, To shine each night in the Sky!

And the moral’s plain, of this tale (your tail, If you are a bear, or a fish), _Don’t fume and splash and disturb your pool,— And you’ll probably get your wish!_

“Little Bear liked to hear it, but Cassiopeia could see that it wasn’t really any comfort to him, and she was at her wit’s end to know what to do.”

“They ought to have thought it was a Comet,” said Pat.

“It was stupid in them, but they never once thought of them,” said the Princess.

“Don’t you know, it is like that sometimes,” said Phyllisy, “the most probable thing you forget all about.”

“That was the way with them,” agreed the Princess. “They thought of everything else, and the two days were almost gone when Boreas sent word that he couldn’t possibly wait any longer; but he wouldn’t blow the clouds clear off—only break them up, and send them flying about; so perhaps it wouldn’t be noticed that the Star was gone.

“‘That won’t do at all,’ said Orion. ‘We can’t take chances like that. But what can we do?’

“‘The next best thing,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘We must get another star as near like it as we can find.’

“‘I have one the same color; but it’s not the right size,’ said Cepheus.

“‘Let me have it,’ said Cassiopeia. ‘I’ll try to match it.’

“She took it from him; and the Star People came, one by one, and turned their backs to her, and she held up the star that was the right color by those that were the right size and in a place where they wouldn’t be missed; and you never would believe how many sizes and colors there were! It was enough to drive one crazy, and she was ready to give up in despair. At last she went back to one she had rejected before, on the back of Perseus’ elbow.

“‘It isn’t right,’ she said, ‘but it’s the best there is.’

“‘Oh, that’s not so bad,’ said Orion. ‘A man on horseback wouldn’t notice the difference!’

“‘That’s a very poor joke!’ snapped Cassiopeia—her nerves were quite frazzled. ‘Come, Little Bear!’

“And Little Bear came to her, and they fastened the false star on his tail; and he let them do it, quite quietly, though he felt as if his heart would break—and so ashamed! It was almost worse than no star at all, and seemed like trying to cheat the sailors who trusted him.

“All that night and the next and still another night, Boreas blew and shouted through his trumpet, and the clouds swept back and forth, whirling and tumbling, while Little Bear stood at his post, wheeling slowly around the false star, with his head drooped low and the silver glint all gone from his soft fur, and his heart almost breaking, whenever, through the rifts of the racing clouds, he saw the ships flying before the gale—sailing to all quarters of the world.

“And the other Star People were almost as unhappy as he was, because they loved him, and because such a dreadful thing had happened, and somebody must have been so very wicked. By the time the third night was gone they felt that it couldn’t possibly go on that way any longer; and every one went to sleep, perfectly worn out with trying to think what they could do, and how they could comfort Little Bear, if nothing else could be done.

“Orion was just in his first sound sleep, when a big, jolly voice called: ‘Are you all asleep there? Wake up, Orion!’

“Orion turned around, and there was Old Sol himself, fairly beaming with happiness and good humor, and—what do you think?—in his hand he held up the lost Pole Star!

“‘Wh-why, where did you find it?’ gasped Orion.

“‘Oh, this fellow had it tucked into the crook in his tail. I caught him, going by, and shook him up, and out it fell. So I brought it to you.’

“Then Orion saw that Sol held in his other hand the most disreputable little Comet that ever was seen! His hair and tail—what was left of them—were hanging in shreds. He had struggled to escape, and Sol had held him. Now, scarcely enough of him was left to be worth holding—just a rag! and his head seemed positively shriveled up.

“‘For the love o’ the Law!’ exclaimed Orion, ‘what’s that? A Comet! And we never once thought of it. Give me that star.’ He fairly snatched it from Sol’s hand, and started, as fast as he could run, North, waking every one as he ran, calling: ‘We’ve found the Pole Star!’

“The Comet seemed to think this was a good chance to escape, and wriggled cautiously between Old Sol’s fingers. ‘Oh, no!’ said Sol. ‘You’ll stay with me, where you won’t do any more mischief.’ And he put him in his pocket, and followed Orion, as fast as he could, to the North.

“And when he came in sight, Little Bear was just awake, with everybody crowding around him, and talking to him so fast he couldn’t understand what it was all about. But when he saw his own Star once more—then he knew! And Old Sol laughed to see Little Bear (who had been so patient and uncomplaining when he was most unhappy) give his tail such a switch and jerk that it sent the false star flying off—nobody knew where, nor cared! They kept right on talking—all at once, and nobody listening to anybody else—and saying how stupid it was in them not to have thought of the Comet.”

(“And it was,” said Pat, under her breath; but Phyllisy shook her head at her—not to interrupt.)

“Cassiopeia cried, a very little, while they fastened the Sailor’s Star once more on Little Bear’s tail; and the good old Dragon said, anxiously: ‘Be thure you fathen it _thtrong_!’

“And Little Bear quivered and trembled with delight, his eyes sparkling, even in the sunshine; and then—everybody began to be so sleepy they couldn’t hold their eyes open. So they all hurried back to their places and faded away again; while old Sol, with the Comet in his pocket out of harm’s way, glowed brighter and brighter with pleasure.

“But when night fell, calm and cloudless, who was so proud as Little Bear? His eyes twinkled brighter than any stars, and his soft fur glittered and shone, and he held up his head bravely as he swung around the Pole Star—watching the ships; while the sailors on the ships said: ‘How bright all the stars are to-night! The rains have cleared the air.’

“The next cloudy night, Little Bear sat beside Cassiopeia, in her great jeweled chair, and she sang songs to him once more—about the Fishes, and the other songs he liked. Best of all, the one she couldn’t sing to him when he was so unhappy, about his very own Sailor’s Star:—

“Oh, how do the ships go sailing Over the starlit sea? They’re sailing East, And they’re sailing West, And they’re sailing South,— But they love the best, Where the North Star shines unfailing.

“Oh, how do the ships go sailing Over the angry sea? The winds blow high, And the clouds sweep low, And the ship flies fast!— But the sailors know Their Star still shines unfailing.

“And still the ships go sailing Forever, over the sea; For the winds will drive The clouds away, And the stars shine forth, And the sailors say, _Their_ Star for aye’s unfailing!”

“‘The Sta-a-ar’s unfailing,’” sang the Kitten, after her. And they two sang the last few lines again, together.

“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Phyllisy.

“What is it?” asked Pat.

“Orion’s leg is gone; I’ve been expecting it. A wave just went over.”

And another wave followed close, and shoved it back still higher, before it had time to run away out.

“He doesn’t mind,” said the Kitten.

“Not a bit,” said the Princess. “It wasn’t even a likeness. And where are the Comets?”

There wasn’t a sign of one left. And that was a sign that every one else had better be starting!

IV OLD SOL’S MENAGERIE

Because she had said she would, and they had come expressly when the tide was out, the Princess didn’t wait to be asked; she only looked to see what kind of an Ocean it was, while the others hunted for a pointed shell like the one she used before—and it was a cool blue one, with little waves running on it and cloud shadows moving across.

Then she took the shell that Miss Phyllisy brought, with the Others following; and perhaps it was the very one that flew out of her hand! Anyway, it was exactly like it; it could have been brought back by the sea, and that was a sign that it was lucky to draw more Star People on the sand.

They chose a place to begin, and the Princess drew a circle around her, as large as she could reach from the middle; and it was surprisingly round—when it wasn’t mechanical. Then she came to the line of it and reached over and drew another, larger, circle just so far outside; then she made marks—little neat ones—on the edge, to have it even, and drew lines across to divide it into spaces; and there would be twelve. And the Princess was inside, drawing, and the Others were outside, watching to see what it was going to be—like a Bewitchment, with nobody speaking. For each time Pat started to say: “Whatever is it?” Prudence said: “Don’t speak!” and she stopped. But the Kitten lay on the sand, propped on her elbows, watching and making a song for herself, inside, until the Princess was ready to talk.

As she drew the last line across, that made twelve spaces, she began, sing-song: “Walk right up, ladies and gentlemen! The greatest show in Skyland is now ready to begin. Unrivaled aggregation of animals and galaxy of talented artists. Old Sol’s Menagerie, in Sky-Language called the Zodiac. Something between a zoölogical garden and a circus, and better than both put together—” She stopped and laughed, teasing with her eyes.

“What does it mean?” asked Pat.

“I’m going to show you. These are twelve great cages that make a splendid ring all around the Sky—Houses, the Star People call them. They think it sounds better; but they aren’t in the least like either cages or houses; they’re more like a _place_; and it isn’t a flat circle like this. It’s that way in Starland. You can’t really describe it, because it’s so different; but we can draw it this way, and call it what we like.” The Princess stooped down and began to draw: “In this first cage, Sol keeps the Ram that had the Golden Fleece, that they took away from him, to take such care of! And now that he’s a Star-Ram, he has it back and takes care of it himself.”

“So Draco needn’t watch it any more,” observed Phyllisy.

“The Ram likes it much better this way,” said the Princess. “And here is his name, like a doorplate on his house.” She made a funny little mark in the corner of the space. “Wherever you see that mark, Beloveds, it’s the Sign of the Ram; and it looks like his curving horns. Next door is a great white Bull. One time he was grazing in a meadow where some children were playing. He was very gentle, and let them wind garlands of flowers around his horns. At last, one of them climbed on his back, and away he went with her and swam over the sea. Did you ever see such remarkable, lofty horns?” All the time she was drawing.—“Here’s the sign of his House, and here go his stars.” The Others had stars collected, and when they had finished the Bull, she went on: “In this House are the Gemini Brothers, twin boys who do boxing and wrestling, and ground-and-lofty tumbling. Wonderful singers they are, too, Castor and Pollux, and especial friends of all sailors. They were great sailors themselves, and once drove all the wicked pirates out of the Ægean Sea.”

“The Star ones?” asked Pat.

“No; the real ones. We want two beautiful pebbles for the stars that they wear in their helmets. And up here”—the Princess whirled across—“in this last House that brings it around the circle are two more twins—the Fishes that Cassiopeia sang about to Little Bear. They can have only small stars, because they were discontented.”

When they were done the Princess turned back to the place where she left off.

“In this cage at the North is a Crab; and in the cage exactly opposite is a Goat, but not a common goat. He is a Sea-Goat—like this, with a kind of fish tail.” She left the Crab, and drew the Goat to show. “These two were once impertinent to Old Sol; and now he has them in his Menagerie; and I’m glad of it! Aren’t you, Kitten?”

“What did they do?” asked Phyllisy.

“It’s poetry,” said the Princess. She stopped drawing and clasped her hands around her knees, sitting in the middle of the Zodiac to say the poetry; and the Others sitting outside to listen.

A kindly gentleman was Mr. Sol. He sallied forth one day, to take a stroll, Saying: “This morning I will make my goal, The South Pole.”

With smiles for all he met, and greetings gay, He southward bent his steps,—nor would delay Because he saw, directly in his way, A Billy-Goat stood at bay!

“Yez can’t go anny farther!” cried the Goat. “The language on that sign I’d have yez note: ‘The passage South is closed.’ Kape on yer coat! That’s the _Law_! Ye’d orter know’t!”

His language rude could only cause surprise, And Sol advanced. Oh, who’d believe his eyes! With lowered head Bill rushes—and Sol lies, Knocked flat!—sprawly-wise!

Old Sol arose and said: “I’d have you learn” (So grieved his rage had scarce begun to burn) “There’s still a Pole to visit; and I’ll turn To the North! Your Pole I spurn!”

But as he walked and thought upon his wrong, His rage waxed hotter, his resolve more strong. “The next who thwarts me won’t be happy long! Just let him try!—I think he’ll change his song!”

So striding northward, with his face ablaze, He overtook a Crab, who’d paused to gaze Where stood the Pole. His courteous amaze Sol’s wrath allays.

Now, even as the Goat was set to guard The Southern Pole, and visitors retard, The task of Mr. Crab was just as hard: The North he barred.

But what’s the use of knock-down argument, When courtesy will answer your intent? If with a little tact ’tis wisely blent. Why break a will, that may as well be _bent_?

“Shall we not walk together, sir?” he said. Sol—still determined, though his rage was fled— Agreed, if to the Pole his friend’s path led. Waving his claw, the Crab said: “Straight ahead!”

But wily Mr. Crab did not confess (And Sol was far too much engrossed to guess, So pleasant and straightforward his address), He _backward walked_,—like all crabs—none the less!

They strolled together down the road awhile With jest and chat, that might the way beguile; Then bade adieu. And then Sol saw the wile That turned him from his purpose with a smile!

He had not noticed that they backward walked, Because the Crab so pleasantly had talked.— Thus, twice in his ambition was he balked: The Goat had felled him—and the Crab had mocked!

Since then, he’s fixed a limit for his stroll; He never tries to go around the Pole. Deceit and rudeness worry Mr. Sol Past his control!

“That is the poetry,” said the Princess, “and _this_ is very truly true: Old Sol makes a visit and spends a little while every year in each of the Houses of the Zodiac. But when he comes to the farthest North—which is the Crab—in the Summer, he turns back and goes South until he comes to the Goat’s House, which is the farthest South, in the Winter; then he turns and comes back, and so forever and always.”

“Won’t they let him go?” asked the Kitten.

“He doesn’t give them a chance to prevent. Now he knows it’s a Rule of the Sky he obeys it even before he comes to the place they say he mustn’t pass.”

“But they might have told him politely,” said Phyllisy. “It means something behind, doesn’t it, Dearie?—just plainly true without anything around it?”

The Princess laughed suddenly, because Miss Phyllisy was so earnest and so funny; but she nodded, “Yes.”

“And the ‘House’ just means that part of the sky where they are?”

The Princess nodded again.

“And Old Sol has put a Bewitchment around it so they can’t get out—instead of bars,” Phyllisy added, going back of her own accord to the make-believe, because she preferred it. And that was one of the ways she was wise. What was plainly true could very well wait until she was older and had more time to think about it.

“Here, in Mr. Crab’s House, Sol keeps a beehive.” The Princess went back to her drawing where she had left off the Crab to draw the Goat; and the Others found very tiny yellow shells that looked like them, for the bees.

“Now, here is a Lion who doesn’t have to be any lion in particular because he’s so splendid just being himself. He’s like ‘Terrible as an army with banners,’ not because he’s terrible, but he’s like a heraldry lion. Right next him is Mlle. Virgo, very ladylike and not a bit afraid.”

“What is she for?” asked Pat, while the Princess was drawing her.

“She does ‘poses plastiques’—which means that she looks perfectly lovely being all kinds of statuary on top of a pedestal, and when she doesn’t do that she does remarkable juggling with a pair of great scales that are carefully kept in the cage next hers, so they shan’t get out of order.”

“Could they weigh anything?” asked the Kitten.

“Yes, indeed! The Star People may go in and be weighed on them, if Mlle. Virgo goes with them. But the Scorpion really does the weighing—puts on the weights for her—because she’s so ladylike. He lives next door, on the other side, and he’s very handy with his claws.”

“The Orion one?” asked Pat.

“The Orion one,” said the Princess, beginning in the middle to draw him. “Somebody will have to find a splendiferous red something for the star he wears above his fiery heart.” She drew down his body into his curled-up tail; then she put on his lobstery claws.

“And this gentleman is Mr. Sagittarius, with a head and body like a man joined to the body of a horse; and he is a better shot with a bow and arrow than a Red Indian. Then, there’s the Goat—we’ve done, and the Fishes—we’ve done. And there’s just one more House I haven’t told you about. An old man lives in it. He’s like Orion in one thing, he’s very fond of gardening. But he hasn’t any garden, only a watering-pot. And that’s the part of him we’ll draw, because that’s where he wears his stars.”

“You’re making two spouts,” said the Kitten.

“Because it has. If you want to _garden_, and have no garden but a watering-pot, you can’t have too many spouts. The Ancients said the two streams that flowed from it watered all the gardens of the world.”

“It must have felt funny to be an Ancient,” said Pat.

“Why?” asked Phyllisy.

“With those queer ideas in them,” said Pat.

The Princess looked around the Zodiac ring, to see what was left out; and it was all done but signs in the Fishes, and three more she had not put in when she made them. She put them in now, in the corners of the Houses. So it was finished; and it had taken a good while—drawing and talking and starring them all; but, because she wasn’t tired, they moved along a little farther and began afresh.

It was a tremendous man, with lumpy arms and legs; and that was Hercules, the strongest person in the Sky.

“I’ve heard about him,” said Pat. “He killed lions, and strangled some snakes when he was just a little baby in his cradle—immense ones; he must have been always strong.”

“I suppose he inherited it,” said the Kitten—very grown-up.

“Just hear the child!” said Miss Phyllisy. “What does that mean, Kit?”

“I know,” the Kitten insisted. “He _could_ do it.”

“Course he could!” said the Princess; “and because of _that_. He came of a very fine family—none better. He was a God of the Greeks.”

“A _God_!” exclaimed Pat. “Do _you_—_mean_—to _say_—that _Hercules_ was a _God_?”

“I do,” said the Princess; and, “One of those Ancients, you know, Pat,” explained Phyllisy. But Pat paid no attention.

“Well! For pitysakes! _Hercules_—a God!” she said once more.

And that was all; and nobody will ever know why it surprised her so.

“That’s what he was,” said the Princess, drawing away, very industrious,—“a demi, to begin with, and they made him a whole one. He was highly cultivated and accomplished, besides being so strong. But he had a great deal of trouble, and had to work very hard; and altogether it quite broke him down. It made him always on the lookout for unfortunate signs. Now that he’s a Star Person, he isn’t particularly intellectual, but he is perfectly amiable; and that is a great deal to be thankful for, when you consider how strong he is.” And by that time he was ready for his stars.

Miss Phyllisy suddenly thought of something.

“Oh, Dearie!” she exclaimed. “There’s somebody you never drew.”

“Who is that, Miss Phyllisy?”

“The Big Bear. You never talk about him.”

The Princess made little marks in the sand, all in a row, that didn’t mean anything. When she spoke it was in a slow, thinking-it-out way: “There is something curious about that Bear, that makes him _not_ do the things the other Star People do; and this is it:”—she spoke very impressively,—“The Great Bear doesn’t know whether he’s a bear or a dipper!”

“Oh-h!” cried the Others.

“What _do_ you mean?” asked Phyllisy.